Poem: A Pearl in My Father’s World.

My Father has always said that this world was his–

The world’s an oyster: I am the pearl. 

Surely there is a price to pay. 

Sand and grit rub, rub, rubbing away 

The pain of life: Refining? 

The world is not just the watery wake–

There’s gardens green, a verdant landscape. 

Rolling pastures and stagnant lakes 

Look out upon the rivers, the stars:

She shakes, shivers, awakes. 

Good morning, my wondrous abode?

Upon my neck there is a string–

Scarlet red wreathed with white worldly orbs

Round, smooth, and opaquely smeared

Quotidian and mundane. None can see.

Wandering eyes, mournfully unaware. 

My clavicle hold the song of sonder, 

The paradox of personhood,

The pearl of great Price. 

Is this my Father’s world?